


Confessions

by Purplefern



Series: Strickler Stuff [2]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Canon-complient to the episode, Character Study, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, I'm Bad At Titles, I've watched this episode too many times, Introspection, Is it still shipping if they break up in the end?, Mentions of James Lake Sr, Missing Scene, Season 1 Episode 25: A Night To Remember, Strickler has some explaining to do, at least I think so, so this isn't a happy-shipping story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplefern/pseuds/Purplefern
Summary: Strickler had done horrible things to Barbara, and she still didn't understand everything, especially where he was concerned. (In case you didn't read the tags, a missing confession scene between Strickler and Barbara during S1 Ep 25 "A Night To Remember".)First chapter: Barbara POVSecond Chapter: Strickler POV





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I need to know what conversation was like when Vendel ushered Strickler and Barbara into the examination dwell together. Because she goes from "Walt what are you" to "I never want to see you again I'm glad I'm forgetting everything about you and your face", so obviously someone explained stuff to her, and it wasn't Vendel. So here we are.

The large white troll -- Fendel? Vendel? -- set her down on a stone slab in what she could only call an infirmary. But though it had the air of a room meant for healing others, it was unlike anything she’d seen before (though it had been quite the night of that, hadn’t it?). Vials, crystals, and honestly useless looking bric-a-brac lined the shelves and tables of the room. 

Her search of the room stopped abruptly as another horrible wave of pain washed through her, and she bit her lip to stop the whimpering cry that threatened to spill out of her. Her son may trust this Vendel, but she did not, and was hesitant to let him know how hurt she was. Though,  _ how  _ exactly she was hurt at all still escaped her. A lot of things did, despite Jim’s attempts to explain it all. And he hadn’t even slightly explained the biggest question on her mind…

With that thought, slowly, hoping not to cause more pain despite the lack of apparent injury, Barbara lolled her head to the side to watch Walt climb onto the opposite stone slab. She felt another swell of pain in her neck, at the same time she saw Walter stiffen from where he had lain down. That was another thing she still didn’t understand. Something she wasn’t certain that she  _ wanted  _ to understand. 

Because, if she understood correctly, she’d also have to understand that Walt had all but poisoned her. That Walt had been trying to hurt her son. That he was something other than human. Closing her eyes, she tried to push the thoughts away and focus on the pain that laced through her. She had almost drifted asleep when she was jolted to alertness by the voice of the troll: 

“Well, I’ll have to leave you two alone a little while while I gather supplies to properly treat this wound”. 

At any other time, she would have jested with the other man about the troll’s informality with medical care. But not this time. 

Barbara shifted her position on the stone slab, facing him as best as she could, though he looked away from her.“Walt” she finally said in a pained but determined voice, “What is going on?”  

He fell silent for a long moment. She worried what truth was buried under the silence, as Walter obviously did not want to answer her question. He had done this other times, falling silent or answering evasively, while she had known him, like when she asked about his family or about past relationships. She had thought nothing of it then, just chalking it up to a private and painful matter that he wasn't ready to open up about. Lord knew she had her own moments of that. But now the silence was a sinister cloud hanging over an issue that involved her son. 

“Walter, I may not know what’s going on, but I know you well enough to know that you’re avoiding answering my question. What is going on?  _ Why  _ am I hurt right now? What was  _ that thing  _ attacking my son, and what do you have to do with all of this?”

All the questions took more energy than she could spare, and she finished the tirade with an exhausted sigh, her head falling back against the “pillow” of the slab. She was slightly relieved as he finally gave a response, though she was surprised to hear him chuckle lowly, an action that made him sound like he was a much older man.

“Where does one even begin?” He asked, looking up at the ceiling instead of her. 

And though she knew this was serious, she couldn't help having the barest of tired smirks as she answered sarcastically, “The beginning would probably be a good place”. 

“Now  _ that  _ would be a long story”, his voice sounded unbelievably tired, and once again she was struck by how it made him sound much older than the middle-aged man he appeared to be, but she could not relent. She needed to know. 

“Well, I’d say we have a bit of time. I don’t think we’re going to be going anywhere for awhile” 

“Yes, but the true beginning of this story goes back centuries, millennia, even”. 

The comment shocked her out of the comfortable banter she had unwittingly fell into, a style of conversation they had in many of their dates.  _ Millennia?  _ She didn’t need to know the centuries worth of story; she needed him to cut the crap, and fast. In as controlled a voice as she could manage, though it still ended up sounding terse, she pushed for the truth. No more talking around the subject, this was too important for that. 

“Then just tell me the part that involves you, my son, and whatever that  _ monster  _ was that attacked him!”

“That monster” he began reluctantly,with a tone dripping with derision (and help her, she felt a tinge of hope that he was as much an innocent victim as she and Jim were) “is known as Angor Rot. He’s a troll who gave up his soul for immense magical powers centuries ago. When your son foolishly destroyed his soul,” her temper flared at that, Jim had never been  _ foolish _ , but she bit her tongue and let him continue, “Angor went on the hunt for blood. Both mine and Jim’s”. 

Okay, so that terrifying rotted  _ thing _ that attacked them and supposedly injured Walt was a soulless troll magician. Sure. Why not? It had been a night for that. 

“But why? Even if I don’t want to, I can understand why he would want to attack Jim, but why you?” 

“I--” he started, swallowed, then continued in a weaker voice after another considerable pause, “Because...I was the one who awakened him. And then I  _ might  _ have used his soul as leverage against him in order to have him do my bidding”. The world seemed to go into slow motion, as all the pieces seemed to fit together, and she wished she could stop making them make sense. But, the thoughts were only made stronger as she felt throbbing pain move through her body, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not find a wound. And she had brushed her hand over her neck time and time again. But then, just across the room, Walter's arm hung limp, and his neck glowed in ugly purple scratches. Walter releases an evil troll magician, “to do his bidding”, God, what kind of supervillain rhetoric was that, and now she falls mysteriously injured, with no logical reason. She begged to who or whatever would listen to let it all stop making sense, for something that he confessed to contradict. 

“You awakened….Angor Rot...magic…your bidding” she spoke slowly, straining through both the physical pain and the pain of the implications in each word. Waiting for him to say  _ something _ that would disprove her theory. But he said nothing, and the clearer the facts became, the angrier and more betrayed and  _ used _ she felt  Despite her fatigue, fury was still clear in her voice “He...did something to me, cast a spell on me.  _ You  _ had him curse me, or something”. 

Her heart sank a final time as he did not deny it, instead merely nodding his head shortly, and saying in a raspy and guilt laden voice, “A binding spell. My pain is.. your pain”. 

“But, WHY? Walt, what is your place in all this? What  _ are  _ you?” Tears started to form as she knew part of the truth, she knew the what, but she felt she could barely even begin to understand the why. She felt utterly lost as one of the few stable things in her life was suddenly turned on it’s head, and revealed to be a sham. She had slowly built Walter a place in her life of work and Jim-- he had become a constant on which she relied when the others became too overwhelming. And he had been using her, hurting her, hurting  _ her son _ , without her even knowing. She needed to know why. She needed to know that this was some misunderstanding, that he had had a good reason to use and hurt her. 

“That answer is..long and complicated. I--Angor Rot was supposed to be a tool and a weapon for the Janus Order, a changeling group that I lead. Or, rather, used to lead”

She still didn’t fully understand the implication of “changeling” but that was an issue for another day, if ever. Right now it sounded like his reason was for a weapon, for power. She didn’t care about his “Janus Order”, she wanted to know about the personal side, the side that involved her family, “But why my son? Why  _ me _ ?” 

“You have to understand Barbara, even if I care for him, Jim is the Trollhunter. He was a danger to my plans, our plans. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I had to prevent him from stopping me. If I’m being honest, the binding spell was an attempt to protect myself from Jim without having to harm him”. 

Though a part of her was glad to hear he didn’t want to hurt her son, she couldn’t help but feel hurt at the idea that she was just insurance. For once, just for this small moment, this was not about Jim. This was about  _ them _ . “But you were fine with potentially harming me?”

The answer came slowly, reluctantly, “In the beginning, yes”  

Her thoughts spiraled at that. It had all been a lie. She had fallen headfirst for his smooth talk, his complex and intelligent conversations of wine and history. How many of those deep discussions she had had with him about her doubts with Jim and her fears as a mother were nothing but a façade to hurt her son? His dorky laugh at an even dorkier pun hiding a malicious attempt to  _ use  _ her. She should have followed her first instinct, and avoided a relationship. She had been betrayed and lied to before, but this time felt so much worse, because she should have  _ known better _ . In that moment, she hated Walter more than she had hated anyone else, even James Lake Sr, and partially because of how much she hated herself for falling for it. Not anymore. 

“But, Barbara, things have changed so much, ” his pleading tone almost had her feeling sympathetic, but she squashed the feeling and reminded herself about how genuine their dates sounded, despite his true intentions. She could not trust what he said. Not again. His actions spoke more truly than his words ever could, and she would not be lied to, or hurt, or manipulated anymore. 

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Strickler” she said bitterly, and with finality, “After this is all over, I  _ never  _ want you near me or my son again”. She was ending it here, though her heart still broke faintly with loss as memories of their time together flashed through her mind. All the dates, small meaningless conversations that at the same time meant the world, chaste and not-so-chaste kisses shared when they were alone together, warm smiles and striking green eyes that somehow seemed to understand her struggles; despite it all, despite the fact that they were proven to be lies, those memories still had made her happy. Happier than she had been in a long time. 

And she hated him even more for proving them to be lies. Turning her head away from him, she fell silent, and soon fell into a restless sleep, exhausted by the physical and emotional turmoil she had been through. 

When she woke to find him gone, she didn’t know whether to be sad or relieved. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for Strickler's thoughts on the matter. Will featured repeated dialogue from the last chapter, sorry, but I wanted to keep the two similar and focus more on character-centric stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some "fun" recommended listening for after reading this story (since some people like having song suggestions): "Haunted" by Taylor Swift always tends to make me think of the end of "A Night To Remember", at least before Barbara loses her memories. Ok, just a fun suggestion that I've been thinking about, on with the story.

He watched Barbara as she was carried in Vendel’s arms and set down on a stone slab in the examination dwell. He kept his composure as another stabbing wave of pain threatened to collapse him, but grimaced at the way it made Barbara cry out in pain. He had always thought his first visit to Troll Market would have been more exciting, and evil, and taking-over-the-world like. Funny how things changed against his will.

He felt the white troll’s gaze on him, and immediately shifted to looking around the room. Clearly he had been staring too long. He hated how exposed he felt around Vendel. It was like the old goat could see right through his human disguise, down to his true form. And dig up any secrets he found along the way.

“Well, this all certainly looks comforting” he snarked. Vendel didn’t even look annoyed, just cast him with a level stare.

“Lay down, changeling. The quicker you do, the quicker we can help the Barbara. Besides, I know you’re hurt more than you let on”.

Huffing, and feeling all the part of a scolded teenager despite his centuries, he did as he was told. As he laid down, the exposed feeling skyrocketed. He, a changeling, was now laid down exposed, helpless, and hurt before a troll leader. Not the most reassuring circumstances. For a brief moment, he felt the desire to flee. To get up, run far away from here, and nurse his own wounds in relative safety. But another wave of pain and a stifled cry from Barbara stopped that feeling cold. His self-preservation be damned, this was about helping _her_. (Also, a still-calculated part of his brain, the part that had kept him alive this long, thought, it’s not like he could flee very well if he even tried. The Janus order no longer welcomed him, and a changeling had no other ties.) All the same, he couldn’t stop a nervous flinch as Vendel loomed over him and took a (admittedly gentle) hold of his injured arm.

“Hmm, broken. But just a little bit, it feels like” Vendel spoke in a low tone. He supposed it was so Barbara could not hear. He knew she would be frustrated at the way Vendel phrased it.

 _“You mean it’s a hairline fracture”_ he could practically hear her rebuttal. And then she’d glare at him with that amused but annoyed raised eyebrow. Turning his head, he glanced around Vendel at where Barbara laid across the room from him, her eyes closed in pain, and seemingly asleep. _Guess we’re clear of chastisement today,_ he thought with the barest of sardonic grins.

“You know” said Vendel in that low tone as he ghosted his fingers over Strickler’s neck wound, “this injury would be easier to treat if you were in your other form. Since that is how you were when you received it”.

_Or perhaps not._

The suggestion built a sense of dread in him. He would rather do anything in that moment but let Barbara see him for what he really was. She still didn’t fully understand his role in all of this, and the thought had him wearing his human guise like a security blanket.

“You can't hide the truth from her forever. If you don’t tell her, the boy certainly will. And his account would be far less understanding”.

Curse that Vendel. How did he know so well what he was thinking? “I’ll take that into consideration” he snapped in response.  

Despite the circumstances, the troll chieftain seemed more amused by this than anything, a knowing smirk on his face as he looked over the stab wound once again, his expression turning more serious, “You are lucky Angor Rot did not use his poisoned blade” he scolded, “If he had, there would have been no hope for either of you”. The accusation of ‘you made a stupid choice you fool of a changeling’ went unspoken, but Strickler heard it anyway. He could only turn his head away to avoid having to discuss his foolish decision. One of many he had made, it would seem. He never thought his two insurances would come back to bite him so fiercely. After a pointed pause, Vendel stated, in a louder tone meant for both of them to hear, “Well, I’ll have to leave you two alone a little while while I gather supplies to properly treat this wound”.

Strickler shot the old troll a heated glare, as he left the two of them alone together in the examination chamber. The angry stare followed the white troll all while he crossed the room and left to a connected chamber. When he left, Strickler felt guilt fill him. Now that he was left alone with her, seeing how hurt she was, he felt the full weight of his choices.  He wanted to say something that would make her feel better, and ease this crushing guilt, but what would he say to her? What _could_ he say to her? There was little you could say for comfort when you were the reason for distress.

This binding spell had been a horrible, horrible, idea.

He immediately tensed when he heard the sound of Barbara shifting her position on the stone slab. Briefly he considered the merits of pretending to be unconscious, but if nothing else, that was a bad idea because the skilled doctor could easily tell the difference.

“Walt” she finally said in a pained but determined voice, “What is going on?”

He was torn between relief that she was well enough to talk and anxiety as he scrambled to find the words to answer the question she was asking. Evidently he took too long to think of something coherent to say, because her tone grew more icy as she said, “Walter, I may not know what’s going on, but I know you well enough to know that you’re avoiding answering my question. What is going on? _Why_ am I hurt right now? What was _that thing_ attacking my son, and what do you have to do with all of this?”

Gotten too close. He had gotten too close this time. He broke one the biggest guidelines of being a changeling: don’t get attached to the role. More than attached, he had gone and fallen in... he could not finish that thought. During his panicking, he soon realized that she was still expecting an answer. Ignoring the part of him saying to slither-out, he decided that she needed -- deserved -- the truth. That didn’t make it any easier to do.

“Where does one even begin?” he asked with a hollow chuckle.

“The beginning would probably be a good place” she replied with the barest of tired smirks.

He couldn’t help but smile in return. How easily they fell back into their usual banter!

“Now _that_ would be a long story”.

“Well, I’d say we have a bit of time. I don’t think we’re going to be going anywhere for awhile”

“Yes, but the true beginning of this story goes back centuries, millennia, even”.

“Then just tell me the part that involves you, my son, and whatever that _monster_ was that attacked him!” Clearly, her patience with the bantering non-answers had worn thin. Much as he had known this moment was coming -- ever since Barbara walked through the barricaded door but even before them-- he was still not prepared. Explaining who Angor Rot was would probably be the easiest first step. No personal connections there. Much less messy. “That monster” he began reluctantly and not without disdain for Angor lacing his tone, “is known as Angor Rot. He’s a troll who gave up his soul for immense magical powers centuries ago. When your son foolishly destroyed his soul, Angor went on the hunt for blood. Both mine and Jim’s”.

“But why? Even if I don’t want to, I can understand why he would want to attack Jim, but why you?”

“I--” he started, swallowed, the words stuck in his throat. Without him even realizing it, the dread he had been feeling for himself shifted to dread for Barbara. He knew she had been betrayed and used before in a relationship, but it just now seemed to dawn on him how horribly his actions would hurt her, beyond the physical pain she felt right now. Damn it all, he felt guilty. After so many years of looking out only for himself, and feeling justified in doing so, this guilt was a foreign feeling. He had used countless other people before, and had only felt relief to still be breathing at the end of the day. More than just a guideline, it was a fundamental _rule_ of being a changeling. Everything and _everyone_ were just tools for you to get what you wanted.

But now, because of this one woman, everything was different.

Despite what everyone else thought, despite what _he_ had thought, he cared deeply for Barbara (he still could not bring himself to even think of the l-word). And so, even if it went against every instinct that had been beaten into him his whole life, even if it would make her hate him, he would tell her. “Because...I was the one who awakened him. And then I _might_ have used his soul as leverage against him in order to have him do my bidding”.  

There was a long pause as she digested the information given to her. Closing his eyes, he focused on the ebb of flow of his pain, waiting anxiously for her response. It was less debilitating thanks to laying down and resting, but a constant presence nonetheless, as he felt the steady throb in his arm and neck push small aching tremors through his body. He sensed Barbara stiffen as she, too, felt the flow of pain.

“You awakened….Angor Rot...magic…your bidding” she spoke slowly, working through the strain of his injury, but the fury was still clear in her voice “He...did something to me, cast a spell on me. _You_ had him curse me, or something”.

All cards on the table now. The truth was being dragged out of him. At one point he had admired Barbara’s intellect, but now he hated how insightful it made her. “A binding spell. My pain is.. your pain”.

“But, WHY? Walt, what is your place in all this? What _are_ you?” He was sure that if she had the strength, she would be staring him down in fury. He could hear her voice thicken with tears at the revelation. How could he even begin to explain everything, when his motives had gotten so complicated in his own mind? Should he stick to the basic facts, an easier but less flattering way? Or should he try to justify-- no, there was no justification, but at least explain the suffering of his kind, how Angor Rot was a tool towards their betterment and her son a detriment? He doubted she had any sympathy to spare for changelings--he was sure in this way even she was no different than the rest of the world-- but could he expose that much of himself and his wishes?

“That answer is..long and complicated. I--” he fumbled for the right words. He had always known what to say, why couldn’t he _think of what to say_ , “Angor Rot was supposed to be a tool and a weapon for the Janus Order, a changeling group that I lead. Or, rather, used to lead” he amended bitterly.

“But why my son? Why _me_?”

“You have to understand Barbara” changeling rule number three… “Even if I care for him, Jim is the Trollhunter. He was a danger to my plans, our plans. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I had to prevent him from stopping me. If I’m being honest” and he was so trying to be, “the binding spell was an attempt to protect myself from Jim without having to harm him”. As soon as he said that, he knew he had said the wrong thing. What was he thinking trying to defend his actions right now, and even suggest that they were the better alternatives?

“But you were fine with potentially harming me?” He couldn’t help but flinch at the pure hurt and betrayal in her voice.

“In the beginning, yes” he reluctantly and shamefully admitted, as he remembered the earliest moments of their relationship, if it could have been called that. Really, it had just been a minor joke at the time, a way to make the Trollhunter uncomfortable as well as a convenient way to keep an eye on him outside of school hours. Making mocking requests for breath mints and showing up in his home without warning, it had been...entertaining to watch the young fighter squirm. Back then he wouldn’t have thought twice about using Barbara if he had to. But then, the pretend dates became more and more real as he actually listened to what Barbara said. More than just a distraction, or going through the motions of romance, he enjoyed their conversations. The more and more they met, the more he saw that she was intelligent and determined and kind, and in some ways he found a kindred spirit in her struggles. The way she constantly worked, protected, and worried for Jim somewhat reminded him of how he felt towards his changeling brethren. By the time he had actually gotten the binding spell, he had unexpectedly found himself thinking twice. And now...now things were so different that it was almost hard to think about how he was then.

“But, Barbara, things have changed so much, ” he pleaded, with as much emotion as he could put into his voice with his heart of stone, trying to sound as honest as possible. Because he was. Right now he felt that he had never meant any words more strongly.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Strickler”, the formality stung. For so long, with her there had been no “Strickler” spoken in venomous tones with betrayed eyes, there was no “Stricklander” spoken with an air of disgust and utter disregard, with her he had only been “Walt”, spoken in the softest tones he had ever heard it.  “After this is all over, I _never_ want you near me or my son again”.

The blow, though not unexpected, hit him hard all the same. He turned towards her, mouth open and ready to apologize, to plead, to say what he had to to fix everything, but she had turned away from him with a look so closed off he knew he could never break through. In what seemed like an impossibly short amount of time, he soon heard her breathing slow as she fell asleep.

Tossing an arm over his forehead in self-pity (and then immediately regretting it as his arm was still broken), Strickler lamented to the quiet room, “I’ve made such a mess of things this time”.

“Oh, you only just now realized this?” His muscles tensed and then throbbed in pain as he panicked at the sudden voice. When on Earth had Vendel snuck back in?

“Are you here to kill me, and put me out of my misery?”, he asked pitifully, arm still slung over his head despite the pain.

“Not while you are still bound to the Trollhunter’s mother. But afterwards…” the troll shot him a glare, “It would be no less than you deserve for everything you’ve put them through”.

Strickler deflated, bringing his arm back to his side, and making no move to defend himself. He had never needed to feel this way before, but the stinging finality of Barbara’s rejection made him feel like the scum of the earth everyone else had always thought him to be. He sat passively as Vendel wrapped his arm in a sling, and made no argument when the old troll sternly commanded him to shift forms so he could treat the wound on his neck. While Vendel spread some kind of healing paste onto the throbbing purple scratches, Strickler absently clenched and unclenched his hand in the sling. He made the pretense of doing it to test the extent of his injury, but was also absorbed in the irony that now he probably looked just like the monster Barbara thought he was, that he actually was.

“I think” the words he had been avoiding this whole time suddenly spilled out of him, “I might love her”. The words, though they were truer than he thought was possible, felt extra unreal spoken in his gravely troll-voice (and tone he realized Barbara had never heard from him).

If Vendel was surprised by this belated revelation, he did not show it, merely humming in response.

“Well, you certainly chose a poor way to show it, changeling”.

Once again he felt no desire to contradict the troll leader’s statement. As Vendel finished treating his injury and the pain faded, he wasted no time in switching back into his human form. Observing his hand once again, and thinking about the sheer differences between his stony green troll hand and the lanky peach flesh of his human one, he wished that all of his ugliness could be swept away and hidden as easily as his true form was. Even if that didn’t make it any less his true form.

Giving Vendel a brief formal and (reluctantly) thankful bow (and not finding the energy in himself to be mocking with it), he stood up and prepared to reconvene with the Trollhunter and his friends. But before he left, he could not help but glance back sadly, and already wistfully though their relationship had just ended, at where Barbara lay less than peacefully. If he was only honest about one thing for the rest of his days, it would be to honor her request to stay away from her. The pain of being away from her was less than he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, thanks for reading, be sure to review. And, leave kudos, I guess? Still new to this site, not used to saying that. (Also, does this count as being in a series? Cause these stories aren't connected, but they're all by me and they're all about Strickler? So I'm putting them in a series?) Whatever, R&R, see you next time.


End file.
